Dead Ringer

This story was put up on my earlier blog. Considering that this is one of my better works back when i was in 9th, i thought it deserves a place here too!!

Max Riley, a smart teenage boy wearing a Navy jacket, T-shirt, and faded jeans climbed up the stairs to the principal’s office to discuss his recent ‘behaviors’. He knocked on the door.

“Come in!” an unfamiliar voice called from within.

Max opened the door and walked into the principal’s study, a tiny cluttered room with views over the school grounds. There was a desk and a black leather chair with its back towards the door.
“You wanted to see me”, Max said.
The chair swiveled around and Max froze. It wasn’t the principal sitting behind the desk, it was himself!!! He was looking at a fourteen-year-old boy with fair hair, brown eyes, and a slim, pale face and even dressed identically to him. In Max’s perplexed state it took him almost forever to accept what he was seeing. He was standing in a room looking at himself sitting in a chair. The boy was him. A dead ringer, as a matter of fact. With just one difference, the boy was holding a pistol.
“Come in,” he said, “I have been looking forward to this meeting.”
Max looked at this – this ‘clone’ straight in the eyes. He always believed that cloning was impossible - and to see a clone of himself! In front of him! ... How? ... Not to mention the gun! … Why me? …
Leaving the questions unanswered, he felt behind him; he still hadn’t closed the door. Without warning, he threw himself backward out into the corridor. Simultaneously, the gun went off, the cartridge exploding inches above his head and crashing into the far wall. He surged down the corridor and went up the flight of stairs into the chemistry lab. He instinctively ducked down, evading four bullets which ricocheted around him splintering the wood and smashing one of the gas pipes which instantly caught fire.
Max scrambled to his feet and went up another flight of stairs to the top of the building. Smoke was curling up from the windows two floors below. He thought of the chemicals on the shelves and the gas – the gas! – he could be standing on a virtual time bomb!
Just then, a bullet creased past his shoulder as he saw his double coming up the stairs. He made a dash toward the ersatz and a second later seized hold of his wrist and forced the gun away. A tremendous explosion below shook the building, but neither of them seemed to notice. They were locked in an embrace, two reflections that had entangled up in a mirror, the gun over their heads, fighting for control.
A crater suddenly appeared on the roof with another explosion, swallowing the gun as it fell down. The boy noticed it too late and fell through. With a shriek he disappeared into the smoke and fire. One Max walked over to the opening and looked down.
The other Max lay sprawled on his back, not moving, three floors down. The flames closing in. A teenage boy with fair hair, brown eyes, and wearing a Navy jacket, T-shirt, and faded jeans walked to the edge of the roof and began to climb down the emergency-ladder.